


Blood On My Name

by BlueEyedArcher



Category: Far Cry (Video Games), Far Cry 4
Genre: Abduction, Ajay Needs A Hero, Atonement - Freeform, Blood and Gore, Civil War, Conscience, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Non-Sexual Bondage, Rabi Ray Rana can help too, Royal Army are assholes, Sabal to the Rescue, Sins, The Pen is mightier then the Sword, Torture, War, hostage, prisoner
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-29
Updated: 2018-04-29
Packaged: 2019-04-29 13:58:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14474175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueEyedArcher/pseuds/BlueEyedArcher
Summary: His fingers found their way to his radio, pressing the call button, not caring what channel he was on. “This is….Ajay Ghale…” He huffed, giving another hard cough. “I’m surrounded- pinned down. Any Golden Path in the area...of...of…” His breath caught as he struggled through another cough. If the hunters weren’t going to kill him, the smoke was going to succeed. He swallowed hard, the coppery taste coating his tongue as he searched his mind for the place he was in. He couldn’t remember. He had been all over the map the last couple days. The locations were all blurring together into one big mess of Royal Army red and the screams of civilians in need. “Help!” He called out, his voice rising within the tower as if through sheer will, it could reach the Golden Path better than the radio could. “...elp…” His voice trailed, another rasp of breath before he sank down to the floor. One gloved hand still clutching at his radio as the billowing darkness surrounded him.





	Blood On My Name

**Author's Note:**

> This was a spur of the moment idea after I searched a dead Royal Army guard and found pliers. This played out in my head. It is brutal and violent and emotional but please endure until the end.
> 
> The title of the fic is from the song Blood On My Name by The Brothers Bright

“This is an announcement brought to you by the Ministry of Public Affairs and Social Harm-” The broadcast was cut mid sentence as the radio facade was ripped open, the signal severed, opening up the airway for other radio channels to feed through. Ajay’s radio crackled to life, a blaring static as he approached the ziplines on the other side of the tower.

 

“Well done brother! Pagan’s not going to be very happy being cut off from nearly half his audience.” The warm hearted laughter of the Golden Path leader was enough to lift Ajay’s ragged spirits, hearing the satisfaction in the elder man’s voice. The way his tone would tilt up, he could only imagine the smile spread wide across Sabal’s face right now, it had an infectious response as one arose to Ajay’s lips as well.

 

This was his third tower today, getting it in the last hours of daylight. He checked his watch, figuring he had just enough time to make it back to the nearest outpost if he picked up his ATV and gunned it down the back trails. He ached to lay down in a real bed and eat some real food that was hot and not cold rations from a can. He was just clipping in when the tower was rocked with an explosion. He cursed, grappling for the wooden railing beside him to catch himself before he toppled off the ledge, his clip  falling from his grasp, leaving him without a way down. At least not an easy way.

 

There came another explosion quickly followed up by the explosive bursts of automatic rifles. He tensed, the spray of bullets rapidly painting the side of the tower with holes as he dove behind the thicker walls. Well, what was left of them. The entire tower was falling apart and what was left wouldn’t survive long getting battered like this. He hissed through clenched teeth as he molotov’s smashed against the sides of the building, lighting the mid section of the building on fire. “Fuck!” He cried out, reaching for his gun, checking the clip to find it was almost empty. He pushed his rifle to the side, reaching for the handgun on his thigh to find six rounds left. He had to make every last one count.

 

He took a step towards the center of the tower, hooking his grapple into the side of the rotting boards and shimmying his way down. His eyes keeping a wary watch for Royal Army soldiers. The smoke from the center made his eyes sting, blinding him temporarily as he reached the first floor. He fired off a round at the first person that moved, dropping a body in uniform, the red leaching out across the camouflaged form. He approached in a low crouch, dismissing his grappling hook for the moment as he surveyed the lower portions of the tower, slowly easing his way towards the body. He froze, fingers gripping the gun tighter when he noticed something unusual. He searched around the body, hoping it was just his mistake, but as he moved them over, he was horrified to find that the ‘soldier’ he shot was a hostage, bound and gagged, dressed in Royal Army attire.

 

A whistle like bird calls sliced through the roar of the flames above him, an arrow whizzing through the entryway of the tower, burying the tip in his shoulder. He hissed out. “Shit!” Raising his gun, he fired off in the direction of the arrow but the whistling had moved around to another angle. Another arrow made its way through the doorway, catching the wood beam beside him, far too close for comfort. He stumbled forward, feeling a dizziness surround him. The smoke was burning his lungs, making them ache as he stifled a cough, trying to hide within the recesses of the tower, hoping to hold out. He staggered, body sagging against the interior, feet tripping up on debris as his strength faded. “Fuck, its….it's laced with...shit!” He cursed again, his free hand moved for his radio, the searing pain of the arrow buried in his skin was a harsh reminder. He attempted to pry it out, but the barbed ends only dug in harder, tearing through flesh. He gritted his teeth, tasting blood on his tongue as another whistle crossed the air.

 

His fingers found their way to his radio, pressing the call button, not caring what channel he was on. “This is….Ajay Ghale…” He huffed, giving another hard cough. “I’m surrounded- pinned down. Any Golden Path in the area...of...of…” His breath caught as he struggled through another cough. If the hunters weren’t going to kill him, the smoke was going to succeed. He swallowed hard, the coppery taste coating his tongue as he searched his mind for the place he was in. He couldn’t remember. He had been all over the map the last couple days. The locations were all blurring together into one big mess of Royal Army red and the screams of civilians in need. “Help!” He called out, his voice rising within the tower as if through sheer will, it could reach the Golden Path better than the radio could. “...elp…” His voice trailed, another rasp of breath before he sank down to the floor. One gloved hand still clutching at his radio as the billowing darkness surrounded him.

  
  
  
  


“Sabal!” A voice called out over the expanse of dirt track leading up to the radio tower. There were two Golden Path trucks already in the vicinity. They had raced there as quickly as they could, several more had swarmed in from the nearby outpost to assist as best they could. The rebel leader had pushed the old pick up as hard as it could go, leaving more than a few of its passengers fearing for their lives that they might get tossed out the bed on the next sharp turn or steep hill. Ajay’s radio signal cut out moments after his last transmission. A cry for help that had the rebel frantic, feeling a tightness that buried deep into his chest, stealing away the breath within and kicking his heart up to a thunderous level. Everything else around him was white noise. A continued jarring silence that surrounding him as he approached the tower. Finally leaving the haze at the sound of his name.

 

His head whipped towards the approaching members with hope in his jade green eyes, only for it to be snatched away. In their hands were Ajay’s belongings, smoke and blood staining some of it, the remnants of what was left in the charred tower on the hill. No sign of Ajay. There was a body within the rumble but they were too small to be Ajay, which both relieved and petrified Sabal. He knew what happens to those taken prisoner by the Royal Army. He couldn’t stand to let that happen to the younger man. “I want him found.” The command was a harsh cold snap that had the surrounding members flinching, jerking away hard, feeling the same weight as their leader at the loss of their comrade. They all had heard the frantic call over the radio, the desperation in Ajay’s voice, begging, pleading for someone to come in time. They had failed him once. They weren’t inclined to repeat. With a quick response of understanding, the rebels dispersed to their vehicles and fanned out to find answers and hopefully track the Son of Mohan down.

  
  
  


The cold chill of the early morning Kyrati air settled over his form, leaving a lingering dampness that burrowed into his bones. He gave a weak cough, painfully clenching inside his chest drawing broken groans from his lips. He shifted to find comfort, hands moving to clutch at his chest,to feel the rawness of his throat but were met with resistance. His eyes opened slowly, stinging in the cooler mountain air as he blinked blearily. His body was tinged in the black icor and grime of the fire, the stench of burnt flesh lingering around him but a subtle mental checklist assured him he wasn’t suffering too badly. The pain in his shoulder was a constant fire all its own but he remembered the barbed arrow that had pierced it. The toxin that it delivered, seizing his body and sapping his strength. Even now, he struggled to find it.

 

He tried to roll over, his eyes coming into focus through the blurry vision and finding himself lying on the cold floor of an animal cage. His head tilted to the side, realizing he wasn’t alone. The carcass of a human body rested beside him, keeping him company in the cramped space. He jerked away, eyes widening as he watched the flies crawling in and out of the open mouth, face twisted up into a dying grimace, frozen forever in death. The longer he stared at it, the more he recognized the man. One of the hostages he had saved in the past. He couldn’t save them all of course, two of the three hostages were freed but the final one took a bullet to the skull trying to protect the farmer. He faintly remembered, it was the man’s daughter.

 

The scene afterwards wasn’t pretty. The man was stricken with so much grief, he cursed Ajay over and over again for getting involved. He was furious, spouting a mix of english and Nepalese in rapid succession. No amount of apology could atone for his mistake. He hadn’t been fast enough, thorough enough and the death weighed heavily upon his shoulders, as did every life he couldn’t save and each he took by his own hands in this God forsaken country. The image of the hostage bound and dressed in Royal Army attire leap to the forefront of his mind. He shuddered, feeling the sickening clench of his stomach twisting up into unforgiving knots.

 

“Finally awake Ghale?” The words were taunting, a drag on his last name that was far too familiar. A sound that often left the lips of many in the Royal Army soon before he kills them. His eyes darting towards the side of the cage where he was met with a smug grin. Behind the man was two hunters, covered in the traditional style garb that made him think of Arabian assassins. His eyes searched their faces for any sign of what their intentions were but failed to find a direct reasoning. Many of the royal Army had just as soon kill him on sight, but they were keeping him like some trophy. Perhaps that was what they intended. The country’s most notorious murderer -aside from The Goat- and rebel. His face was recognized by everyone he came across for some reason or another, his reputation proceeding him thought Rabi Ray’s broadcasts sort of outlined him perfectly for anyone who hadn’t met him in person already. Well, somewhat perfectly. There was some things that were better left unsaid but sadly, Rabi has no filter for what comes out.

 

He opened his mouth to speak, cracked and dried lips parting to form words that never came. Instead they were replaced with a myriad of hard painful coughs, followed by a trembling groan that wormed right down to his core with an ache that throbbed throughout his body. The soldier gave another haughty laugh, seeing his pain as satisfactory, Ajay couldn’t very well blame him. How many people had he killed now? He lost count. Though, he wouldn’t be surprised of many of them were this soldier’s friends or even family. The crunch of boots signaled the soldier’s departure, returning to his post in the camp. The two hunters remained beside the cage, vigilant and wary, bows at the ready.

 

He was left within the cage for hours, nobody interacted within, even once he mustered up enough of his voice to ask questions. The one response he got came in the form of the previous soldier returning to the cage with a sneer. The bitter stench of alcohol trailed with him as the man opened up his uniform and decided to take a piss right there on the cage. “The fuck is wrong with you?” The hunters didn’t even stop him as he laughed as Ajay lurched away to avoid getting any of the bodily fluids on him. It forced him into the same corner as the dead farmer, drawing a deeper more manic laugh from the soldier who sauntered away. Ajay’s face was scrunched up as he shimmed his back against the rough metal of the cage, feeling it catch and drag on his jacket, his wrists twisting in the bindings of the rope. He grimaced, turning his head away as he considered his options.

 

When the sun was bearing down on them, the soldier returned, giving a brief command to the hunters as they opened the cage and dragged Ajay out by his ankles. He cursed, feeling the pain reignite in his shoulder, the rough dryness of the blood in his clothing chaffing the tender and torn flesh. He was forced to his feet soon after, his knees weak and easily buckling with the slightest push done too roughly. He hit his knees, drawing a crude chirp from the soldier who delighted in the looks he would get from the younger man. “If I’d known it was that easy to get you on your knees Ghale, I’d have found a more suitable position for you.” He gave a cheeky laugh that drew a bitter growl from Ajay as he was forced back up on his feet by the hunters, shoving him towards a small shack like building. No windows, a single door and it was small. Possibly big enough to be considered an equipment shed, though the types of equipment offered within weren’t the kind it was meant for.

 

He was forced back into a chair, his hands tied to a length of rope reaching back to a fixed position in the wall, keeping him from going anywhere. A shelf lined one wall, the other three were clear around Ajay. A single light hung above him, covered in cobwebs and years of dust. The room was well used, soiled in the stench of blood among other fouler smells. It was soaked into the floorboards and spattered the wall. An acrid stench that burned his nostrils and made his dizziness return from earlier. He felt the bitter burn of bile rising in his throat, forcing him to swallow it back down. His eyes fixed on the soldier with indifference, refusing to give him the satisfaction he was seeking. He wasn’t going to be like all the others who entered this room, pleading and blubbering for his life. As far as he was concerned, his life ended when he boarded that bus with Darpan.

 

The door closed with a deafening click, the silence settling over them like an uneasy blanket, suffocating in the stifling air of the room, making the queasy feeling inside Ajay worsen without the fresh air of outside. A hunter lingered within, the second one had left and the soldier remained, a looming presence, pleased with himself as if he had single handedly brought _the_ Ajay Ghale down. The scuff of boots dragged across the wood flooring as the man perused the tray of tools sitting aside. His fingers dancing over each with intent to use, but which one first? _The pliers?_ No. _The hammer?_ No. _The drill with it’s exposed bit at the end?_ No. There were many tools laid out, dried and cracked, worn with age and stained, but rather it was with rust or blood, Ajay couldn’t tell.

 

The fingers plucked over each item, inspecting it with a slow interest, contemplating each piece before the soldier seemed to pause with an old buck knife. The hand wrapped in duct tape, the hilt exposed with a serrated edge glinting the light back at the younger man. “I think it’s time for a nice little warm up.” The soldier’s lips spread in a sickening grin, turning towards Ajay so they were face to face, his fingers found their way to Ajay’s hair, gripping it tightly as the tip of the blade pressed against his cheek. A sharp pain of the serrated edge cutting into his skin with the pressure before a short jerky motion drew first blood. Ajay hissed, teeth clenched as he remained indifferent to the prodding pain, the warmth of blood on his face. He cursed in the back of his mind, reminding himself that there was nothing this man could do to him that he hasn’t endured ten fold from the Kyrati wildlife and his own recklessness.

 

He held his breath, feeling the tip of the blade trail dangerously along his throat, teasing past his jugular and applying pressure against his adam’s apple, ensuring he felt the lingering sting of the pressure from the tip. It lowered, the blade ripping into the material of his shirt with fast hard movements, none too careful about catching skin as the edges grated over his chest. His wrists pulled in a hard motion, the urge to defend himself placed tension in his injured shoulder that inevitably had him bleeding all over again. The blade was dragged down his chest, the pressure splitting skin, just the top layers but it was enough to elicit a hiss of pain past parched lips. Ajay’s jaw tightened, his dark chocolate orbs meeting the soldier’s with a glare of defiance. The man returned the glare with a smug grin, cracking his knuckles across Ajay’s jaw, the knife firmly gripped as his fist met the younger’s flesh with an audible sound. Pain exploded in the side of Ajay’s head, his mouth filled with the taste of blood as he gasped, white blinding across his vision as the world flipped over on him. His head raised, the joints in his neck and jaw grinding as he spat blood in the soldier’s face, urging another hit to meet his face, followed by another.

  
  
  
  


The radio had fallen silent, for hours, Rabi Ray stared at his handheld, waiting for some kind of sign that the Savior of Kyrat was okay. The open air channel that Ajay’s distress signal was broadcast on was heard throughout the southern part of Kyrat. Every Golden Path member and ally of Ajay’s heard the call and each was clamoring for some kind of answer. It came when Sabal sent out several search parties looking for any trace or sign of the younger man. Against Amita’s wishes. Rabi was all for the feisty femme fatale of the Golden Path but this was a call he backed Sabal on wholeheartedly, which was saying something considering chances were the passive leader would rather have the disc jockey’s permanent silence. This was no time to be silent though. Thanks to Ajay, more than half of the radio towers had been freed from Pagan’s propaganda bullshit. With the air waves free to his disposal, he did what he did best. He called out to the people.

 

“Welcome back to Radio Free Kyrat, this is Rabi Ray Rana with an urgent message,” He forced his voice to carry without weakness. He kept it firm and steady, knowing he needed to think and do this properly. This wasn’t just some bullshit bashing broadcast like he always does where he can ramble on incessantly. This was Ajay’s life on the line. “The Hero of Kyrat, Ajay Ghale has gone missing people. He’s possibly been captured by Pagan’s Royal Army. This man has been a hero to you all, has risked life and limb to get Kyrat this far. It’s time we repay him back. If you’ve witnessed any unusual Royal Army movement, please do not hesitate to call in. Blow my phone up for fuck’s sakes. Bring Ajay back home before Pagan can take away the last hope Kyrat has in this fucking war.” His hands were shaking by the time he release the mic, sending the radio over to play one of the handful of popular songs. Anything other then the god awful bullshit from the Ministry of Public Affairs and Social Harmony.

 

He didn’t have to wait long for a response. The people were listening, of course, they were always listening. Especially when it came to Ajay, they waited with bated breath for the news that he would finally free them all. The prodigal son and heir to the Ghale Legacy. People were reporting in left and right about suspicious Royal Army activity. A majority of it leading back to a camp on the outskirts of Ajay’s territory. An Outpost he hadn’t quite reached yet but was working his way there steadily. The tower he had knocked out before hand wasn’t very far off from it. It was nestled at the base of the mountains, covered on three of the four sides by steep cliffs and guarded heavily with hunters and snipers.

 

He was eager to get the information out to the Golden Path, so much so that he blurted it out over the radio, hoping that Sabal or one of his people would hear. Which was exactly what had happened. The Golden Path leader slammed on the breaks, fingers gripping the steering wheel of the pick up truck so tightly, his knuckles were white, nails digging into the leather. He cursed, relaying the orders over their secure radio channel, calling in several other Golden Path units to diverge on the same location, then promptly made a sharp U-turn that knocked a few of the members riding in the tail bed, around. A myriad of curses rung out, heard through the open windows of the truck, the dust clouds kicked up by the tires left a path in their wake as Sabal peeled out and raced up along the mountain side roads.

  
  
  
  
  


 

 

Ajay’s screams were far too loud in the cramped confines of the shed, causing a ringing in his ears. The blood rushing through his veins, making its escape through many newly created routes littering his body. Shallow cuts crisscrossing deeper ones that laid open flesh and would certainly require stitches later on. If it doesn’t kill him first, that is. The side of his face was laid open from the repetitive compact strikes, his brow was coated in blood as a laceration ran just above his right eye socket. His hands were nearly purple from the constricting circulation as the ropes cut in deeper, one of his fingers broken at the end of a hammer as they were held out and pinned against a wooden box. His hand twitching, the nerves firing off signals but no action was taken to correct the pain that throbbed throughout his body like a catalyst. His lips had taken on a cherry red hue, dripping down the front of his chin as he spit and sputtered between strikes. His shoulders were slumped and sagged in the chair, his head hanging forward as the soldier gripped his chin tightly, raising it so they were eye to eye. That defiant gaze continued to stare up at him. It was lessened by the dizziness of blood loss, his stomach lurching with the blood pooling into his stomach with every desperate swallow. A wheezing sound making its way through the sudden silence as he struggled to breath.

 

The man growled, determined to break what was left of the high and mighty Ajay Ghale, to be the one to bring him to his knees where he rightfully belonged. This determination is what furthered Ajay’s defiance. The part of him, the rebellious spiteful kid from his teenage years had reared his head. Reckless and daring, his attitude failed to reach his lips body coursed through his body, refusing to give in. The soldier grumbled in frustration, digging the fingers of his free hand into the open wound from the arrow the night before. Ajay’s lips parted in another scream, his voice cracking, reaching the end of its limits as he gasped for breath through all the blood.

 

He hacked a wad onto the man’s face, something he had done several times, now spotting the soldier’s uniform with dark stains. This one seemed to be the final straw as he reached for the pliers. “Let’s dismantle that smart mouth of yours. You won’t have nothing left by time I’m finished with you. You’ll be drooling on yourself in a fucking corner.” His grip on Ajay’s jaw tightened, adding pressure to the swollen and damaged joints, forcing his mouth to part. Ajay choked once more as the blood rolled down his throat, the iron tip of the pliers met one of his back molars as his tongue fought to get in the way.

 

The grip tightened harder on his jaw as he latched onto the tooth and started to pry. Ajay bucked in the chair, his legs scraping against the floor to find leverage as he fought against the man. His energy reignited, just as the rapid bursts of gunfire reached their ears from outside. There was a brief passing of commentary between the hunter and the soldier, the man gave a snide remark, his grip loosening briefly enough for Ajay to get some space between them. The chair scooted back further, the grip on his jaw tightened and pulled him forward, refusing to let him get away.

 

The cooler air of outside rushed in, a dizzying upset from the stuffy heat and congestion inside the shed. He gasped, feeling the world topple over around him. His energy waned, the plier’s refirmed their grip, pulling against the root of his gums. He gave a choked cry, eyes squeezed shut when a deafening bang filled the room. Hot spray splattered his face as his head was forced back at a painful angle from the weight of the body slumping against him. He cried out as the chair tipped, pinning his arms between himself and the wall.

 

A hand gripped his shoulder, drawing another quick breath as he coughed up more blood. “Ajay! It’s alright!” The voice was fuzzy through the swell of his heartbeat, sounding distant and muffled. He felt the weight of the body fall to the side, hitting the ground at his feet. Hands pulled the chair away from the wall, something cold pressing against his wrists before the tension of the rope gave way. He whimpered, his form slumping forward, caught by an arm around his shoulders to keep him upright. His fingers clawed at the form, raking across the material of their chest, a combination of holding on to stay on his feet and wanting to push them away, to flee. He felt his stomach lurch again as he dropped to his knees. The smell of blood was everywhere, the  noxious stench in the heat of the room.

 

He pressed a hand to the figure’s chest, dropping forward onto all fours as he heaved up the bloody contents of his stomach. It was wretched, each upheaval was painful, his torso constricting as he gave up everything he had and then some. The hand on his shoulder remained, firm but not demanding. It was comforting, the way the fingers took care not to press on any obvious wounds. Another hand moved to his lower back, rubbing carefully but still guarded and alert. “Brother, listen to me. If you can stand, we need to go now.” The tone was urgent, the term of endearment gave him hope, that this wasn’t just a hallucination or a dream he’s conjured up. He felt hands pulling him up to his feet as he carefully gripped to the other’s bicep, it was weak, barely an intention of holding on. He just wanted to sleep. To lay down. For the world to stop spinning and moving on him.

 

The transition from the dimly lit shed to the harsh mid evening light of day caused him to falter. His legs buckled underneath him but hands pulled him up, one arm snaking around his waist. There were words passed to others, commands before more hands were put upon his body, guiding him towards large blue blurs. His eyes squinted out, fearing where he was being taken. The color was calming, familiar, even as he was pulled up into the back of one of the vehicles. Hands passing him on to others. The familiar form never let go of him once as they pulled him firm against their chest. The strong arms wrapped around his waist, fingers combing through his hair as voices shouted back and forth.

 

He didn’t realize when they started moving until the rocky bumps jostled them around. He gave a weak bark of pain, curling up in quiet whimpers. There was cursing, the hands tightening around his waist to keep him closer. The heat of the body at his back was unusually comforting, the way they kept him stable and still. His eyes remained closed as his head tilted back into the firm shoulder, his body relaxing, giving in as the warmth of the Kyrati sun shined upon him, the nip of the wind as they flew over the uneven mountain terrain cooled the insatiable heat on his skin. It was so easy to give in, to let it take him. To let the pain consume him. _‘Each of these is a sin. My sin.’_

 

Longinus’ words rang in the back of his mind. He wondered if this was Kyra punishing him for his sins. He knew Sabal had scolded him once before about it, that Kyra was not a vengeful goddess but Ajay couldn’t see why she would allow him to go unchecked. Unwritten. He could bathe in the blood of his legacy, one that was incomplete. Maybe, maybe that would be his end. Just like his father. To see his work go incomplete. He had taken the Golden Path this far, they would certainly be able to continue without him. Sabal was a strong leader, he had his heart in the right place. Kyra will guide him as she always does. Maybe it was time that Ajay return the reins and let it all fall into place on its own. It was no use fighting it any longer.

 

A sound escaped his chest, the soft wheeze of his breath as he released a deep exhale. His body growing heavy against Sabal’s hold. The head against his shoulder lolled to the side, causing the leader quite a bit of concern. He banged on the side of the truck so the driver would notice as he blurted out. “STOP THE FUCKING TRUCK!” The others were startled, as the driver slammed on its breaks, nearly rear ended by the two other vehicles tailing behind them. They watched, wide eyed as Sabal laid Ajay down, pressing his head against the younger man’s chest. He cursed, his hands meeting Ajay’s torso, compressing against his sternum as he put his whole weight into it, the telltale cracks and groans of the rib cage giving as he started CPR. “You’re not going to fucking die on me now. Not now! YOU HEAR ME AJAY!” He screamed out in between, giving a few deep breaths past blood dripping lips before he resumed. The Golden Path members watched in equal parts horror and shock, guns prepared to defend should the Royal Army come for retaliation. Their eyes split between guarding and watching their leader break as their savior drew his last breath.

 

Sabal was determined, persistent even as he started to grow tired. He reinforced his will, feeling the ache and burn in his arms and shoulders, racing down his back but he wasn’t going to stop. He gave multiple sets, continuing a litany of Nepalese cursing and ranting in between providing breaths. The other rebels were mournful, too afraid to make Sabal stop while simultaneously blaming themselves for coming too late. They knew they couldn’t stay out in the open like this for long, they were vulnerable and feared more of them will join the Son of Mohan on the other side if they didn’t get moving again. The driver opened his mouth to suggest this very thing only to receive a venomous look from the leader, daring him to speak those words. The man recoiled, backing away from the rebel and letting him proceed.

 

Several minutes had passed by before the first choked sound broke the hollow silence that had settled over the roadway. Not a single animal or Royal Army soldier passed, no traveling citizens, even the radio was quiet within the cab of the truck. As if the whole world waited, watching as Sabal pushed on. Nobody remarked on the tear streaks sliding down his face or the blood that covered his hands. None dared to break the quiet, heads bowed out of respect. _‘Kyra!’_ Sabal prayed, calling out to their blessed goddess. She who had guided him for so long, given him signs and showed him the way to Ajay’s side.

 

He could not believe it would be all for naught. That this would be where their paths diverged. He was the _Son of Mohan_ , no- he was _Ajay Ghale,_ his friend, his brother, his second in command. Ajay meant the world to him, not just because of what he has done, his loyalty and his presence as the son of his idol, but because of who Ajay _was_ as a person. Because of his smile, his laughter, his curiosity and the strange ways of his american upbringing. He brought out a side of Sabal that nobody had seen in years, not since the early days of the Golden Path and Mohan’s presence. _‘You can’t take him away from me. Not yet. Please Kyra!’_ He begged. _‘I need him.’_

 

His hands were shaking, arms buckled and shoulders so stiff and wound he could hardly move for another set. His lips met Ajay’s, breathing a shaky breath between them. He felt his chest rise with the motion, as it did with every one before that, but as he drew away, it continued to rise and fall. The wheezing breathes resumed, short, painful gasps but it was good enough for Sabal. “He’s back!” He blurted, startling the others. It took a moment to sink in before they all scrambled back into the vehicles, peeling off for the nearest outpost once more. The drive was much shorter now, they received a transmission that their doctors were already present and waiting for them.

  
  


 

 

A full week, that’s how long it took for Ajay to return to consciousness. His injuries were extensive, suffering a combination of blood loss and dehydration on top of several cracked and two broken ribs, lacerations over a quarter of his body, a handful on his face with one eye completely swollen shut. He had bit a decent chunk out of his cheek and had cuts across his tongue. The blood in his stomach upset it pretty badly and he was on IV drip for days trying to replenish his fluids. He had a broken finger and a sprained wrist, on top of considerable smoke inhalation and damage from breathing in the super heated air within the burning tower. He was touch and go for four of those days and wandered the boundary lines for two more before his status had become stable. Sabal stayed by his side throughout. They returned him to his family home, it took a bit and several people but they got him up into the loft and situated in the bed.

 

The Golden Path leader carried out all his work and operations from his spot beside Ajay’s bed though many avoided bringing anything up unless expressly dire so as not to overwhelm or interrupt the rebel. Sabal spent much of his time praying beside the bed, thanking Kyra for her mercy and aid, praying for her strength and guidance in the coming days and for her protection over them both. He was lost in deep meditation when the raspy whisper of his name drew him out like a bell chiming on the air. He opened his eyes to see Ajay’s dazed expression.

 

His cracked lips parting, forming the syllables of his name but the sound barely reached him. His voice wasn’t working well yet, but he remedied that as he pushed to his feet, grasping a glass of water from a tray on the dresser beside the bed. The mattress dipped with his weight as he placed a careful hand on Ajay’s shoulder to help him raise his head enough, resting the edge of the glass against his lips while he took measured sips. “Welcome back brother.” Sabal greeted softly, his voice was barely above a whisper as he took the half empty glass away, letting Ajay rest back again as he took a shaky breath. He smiled, bringing his lips to the younger man’s forehead, a gesture of affection that was only the tip of the iceberg. He desired so much more, to leap with joy, to cry and scream and praise Kyra because Ajay was awake and alive. Needless to say, he contained himself, not wanting to overwhelm the younger man so suddenly. “You gave us quite the scare.” The unspoken _me_ buried in the statement, he reeled himself back as much as he could.

 

Ajay’s lips tilted up in a small relieved smile, it was barely present, to those not familiar with the younger man’s expressions, it could be easily missed or mistaken for a grimace. He brushed his fingers over Ajay’s forehead, mindful of the stitches that littered his face, certain to leave behind quite the nasty scars. His fingertips teased at the shaggy dark locks playing around his features. “How are you feeling?” He asked after a moment.

 

Silence followed, Ajay’s lips parted to speak but no sound came out, just a rough cough. Sabal frowned with concern, jade green hues dampened and red around the edges but fixed determinedly on his counterpart. Ajay soothed this worry by raising his hand with a wince, fingers finding Sabal’s as they wove together. The grip wasn’t firm, his hand barely held above the mattress before it rested back against the comforter, still intertwined with Sabal’s touch. It was all the reassurance he needed for now as Sabal breathed a heavy sigh as if he’d been holding his breath this whole time.

 

The weight that seemed so crushing since that distress signal, had finally faded away. He tightened his grip, giving a light squeeze but was careful of Ajay’s injuries as he pulled his hand towards him, his head dipping down to press his lips to the younger man’s knuckles, gracing the bandages with a gentle and warm kiss. His fingertips trailing over the back of his hand in slow feather light circles. His eyes lifted, gazing down into the softened chocolate hues, his lips rising into a smile, keeping a close resemblance to the one that graced Ajay’s features. It was so infectious he couldn’t help but feel the bubbly swell inside his chest, a giddy energy that made the expression grow until all the unspoken words and emotions pooled into his eyes, mirroring the same in Ajay’s.

 

He released a shaky breath as his fingers trailed up to the undamaged side of Ajay’s face, stroking gently across his cheek and up into his hair. The familiar motion reassured him that this was real and Ajay was still by his side, still in his life, breathing, with that infectiously delightful smile that beamed brighter then the Kyrati sun. Ajay’s eyes fluttered shut as he tilted his head into the touch, nestling his cheek against Sabal’s palm as he released a less raspy breath, his body sagging in the mattress. This time he didn’t have to fear Ajay’s heart stopping, he knew the other was safe and his. He watched the slow rise and fall of his chest, their fingers still mingling together as Ajay’s lost himself in the depths of sleep. His peaceful features far more lively now then before, content and pleasant. Sabal’s hands continued their gentle stroking motions through his hair, combing across his scalp as he felt the warmth of his presence and admired the spirit that burned within, a fire that was uniquely Ajay.


End file.
